Shade and Syzax
by D.A. Steffens
Summary: Odd, isn't it? Leythin, the Badger Lord of Mt. Liyarthin, befriends Plugg Firetail and his son Syzax. This is a pre-Triss story about Plugg, before he became a murderous Freebooter Chapter 4 now up!
1. The Turning of Seasons

Shade and Syzax

The big fox hauled himself through the near waist deep snow. The air was cold. Hiscrew was colder. Behind him stood his wife and their newborn son, Syzax Firetail. Plugg Firetail sniffed the air and sighed, signaling to his Freebooters with his axe.

"We'll camp here tonight," he told them when he had found a wide cave.

The Freebooters were down on their luck. Their ships thrashed and torn apart in a gale, they had come to rest in the southernmost part of Mossflower, past even Southsward, near the mountain Liyarthin, where Badger Lord Leythin of Southsward ruled. Plugg and the beast he called his wife, a pretty young vixen named Bloodpetal Firetail, stood cradling their son Syzax. His weapon to be, a staff with a curving spear blade on either end, stood to one side.

Their second in command, a weasel called Slitty, slunk up, whispering to the two, "We don't have enough vittles to keep us alive, let alone the whelps we captured." He motioned to a group of bankvoles, mice, and hedgehogs.

Plugg sighed and motioned around with his axehead that a group should go foraging. Slitty took twoscore of the gathered Freebooters and headed into the deep snow.

Bloodpetal cooed affectionately at Syzax. "One day, you will command a horde greater than your father."

The young dogfox was already vicious. He lashed out with tiny claws at anybeast that ventured too near. He had blood red eyes and gray white fur. He gave a foolish grin. His time would come!

In the great mountain Liyarthin, over thirty leagues from where the Freebooters were gathered, a similar event was underway. A leveret had just been born to a harewife whose husband had been slain against the armies of the Northlands. The hare was pitch black, with no sheen whatsoever to his fur. It seemed as if he had been rolled in charcoal before his birth, and his eyes were deep, dark brown.

The male hare, Treyin, stood over the odd colored hare and nodded. The harewife next to him holding the leveret, named Runh, clucked at the little hare.

"Have you thought of a name for the little blighter?" Treyin asked her.

She nodded and tickled the leveret's chin. She said without looking up, "Yes, I have called him Shade Darkleg."

A deep voice growled out behind them, "A good name for a soon to be hare warrior."

Leythin of Southsward thundered up behind them, his huge war scythe over one shoulder. Runh smiled at the Badger Lord of Liyarthin, offering Shade's carrying sling to him. He picked up the tiny affair in his big blunt claws, rocking the babe to sleep.

"He will one day find a way to rid all of Mossflower from vermin. I can tell by the look in his eyes!"

As the earth turned and seasons ran together, Plugg Firetail ventured ever closer to Liyarthin. His Freebooters were horribly down on numbers, including his wife, Bloodpetal, who had been slain in a fierce battle against the otter guard of the castle of Southsward. All that was left was him, Slitty, whose proper title was Slitfang, a female weasel named Tazzin, Syzax, and a few young searats born just before the battle named Scratch, Grit, and Spit. There was another member of the band who had joined them in the fight at Southsward Castle. The battle had left Southsward Castle still standing and Plugg completely disheartened. He gathered his few remaining warriors and left.

It was a short, muscular weasel, dubbed Rotface. He had been struck by an adder on the left side of his face and miraculously survived. That side of his face drooped horribly and the eye bulged from its socket, red and yellow. For his weapons, he cut the skin off his paws and attached enemy bones to his knuckles, allowing them to grow to his own bones. He was a fierce fighter and had slain over a score of otters in the battle. His mate, a white ferret once belonging to a Pure Ferret family of Riftgard, followed him everywhere.

This beast's name was Sharkson, and his teeth were needle sharp and serrated on both edges. Whether by file or natural design, no one knew. He also carried a long handled battle mace and had only half a tail. His eyes were a bright pink, as were his paws and nose. He lugged along behind Rotface, exhausted after the season long battle with Southsward.

"Shoulda stayed on Riftgard wit me ould mother and her brother Sarengo. Hellsteeth! This is a bad lot we threw in with, eh, Rotty?" The ferret complained.

Syzax slunk up behind him, saying matter-of-factly, "If you would have, you woulda been slain with the rest of your dithering family. Now shut up and follow Plugg."

Plugg looked back fondly at his son. The three season old dogfox was a huge creature, almost the size of a badger, and his double spear weighed nothing to him. He wore only a finely woven cloak and a pair of baggy black pants. His red eyes shone with the intelligence, ferocity, and ingenuity that only a fox could possess. Plugg, unlike most other vermin fathers, was very close to his son, and the Freebooters knew that.

Tazzin wandered alongside of Slitfang, conversing in low tones, Tazzin's now squeaky, pained voice more audible that Slitfang's but they spoke so low that not even Syzax could hear them. The two foxes didn't care; the two were the most trusted of all the horde Plugg had once commanded. The three rat brothers were constantly kept close to Plugg and Syzax just wandered wherever he wanted to. Plugg signaled to Tazzin and she crept up behind him.

"Take Syzax, Sharkson, and Rotface, scout the area. Keep your daggers close by, matey."

Tazzin gave a swift nod, and gathered the three. Syzax was last to disappear from sight. He waved to his father, then he was gone.

Slitfang and the three rats Scratch, Grit, and Spit looked to Plugg for further instructions. He took off his battered jacket and rolled it into a pillow, lying his head on it.

"Get some sleep, you four. You need it." And with that, Plugg Firetail was asleep.

Slitfang was last to sleep. He watched as Spit first fell over in sleep, then Scratch. Last to be taken by sleep was Grit. The oldest of the three was glaring at Slitfang with his one good eye. Slitfang's paw strayed near his cutlass handle. Grit finally fell asleep as Slitfang leaned against the tree, keeping watch until the foragers came back.

It was late dawn when Tazzin and Syzax found the trail back. The two had had to run off after Sharkson and Rotface after the two had smelled a cooking fire. They were fortunate however, to find a family of voles huddled around, cooking dace and trout. The voles were tied up, four fish out of ten eaten, and the four had tramped off to find their path back to camp.

Tazzin motioned to Syzax and he slumped down while she made signals with her paws. In the battle, she had had her throat slashed horribly but somehow survived, robbed of speech. Only Syzax and Plugg knew the meanings of her symbols, and she could only mutter in squeaked tones when she had a fully wet throat. She only spoke to Slitfang, and he had a hard time understanding her, often offering her water and making her repeat herself.

Syzax nodded and looked at the two behind him, yelling loudly, "Found the trail, buckoes! Let's go."

They followed the trail for an hour or two, then smelled blood. Rat and weasel blood. Tazzin drew her throwing knife, Syzax tested his spear edges and Rotface clicked his tongue as he readied his claws. Sharkson clacked his teeth and drew his mace. They crept closer and saw the three rats, Grit, Spit and Scratch slain, Slitfang lying nearby, slumped against a tree and Plugg with a slingstone knocked against his head.

"Father, what happened?" Syzax asked frantically as he poured water over his father's face.

Tazzin tended to Slitfang, thankful the weasel was still alive. She looked at his back and was shocked to see about a score or so long gashes. Slitfang winced.

"Black hare. Only one. He had a javelin, metal staved with a lizard skull on the tip. Snake's fang for the blade," he gasped out. "Two huge sickles, threw em like daggers, 'e did. A hiltless sword. Northland dirk. He was insane!"

"He killed three searats, knocked out my father, and tore your back apart?" Syzax questioned the weasel, unable to believe that.

"Aye, matey. Came outta nowhere, threw the rock against yore old pops' head, threw his sickles and pulled his dirk and sword on me. Couldn't even get the idiot with me cutlass."

"That only accounts for four. What about that one?" Sharkson asked, indicating Grit, who was pierce with needle like holes.

"The javelin. Adder fang blade. The beast was insane, I tell yer!"

Tazzin looked up from the bandage and nodded to Syzax, who sighed with relief.

"Tazzin says you'll live, weasel. Though I don't see how. That hare got yer pretty good back there, matey."

Tazzin then went to see to Plugg. The fox nodded gratefully. He refused the weasel's offer of her share of food and water and made the whole crew eat their share. The gathered voles were astounded with his respect for his crew.

"What are they doing here?" he asked, indicating the voles.

Syzax was about to answer when Rotface clambered out of the brush, saying victoriously, "We caught dem fer to eat, might'ness."

Plugg sighed and beckoned Tazzin to bring the voles over. She obliged and Plugg's axe swung down in a swift arc.

_ Thunk!_

The voles were terrified as the ropes fell away from them, until the fox waved them away. They shook their heads in disbelief.

"I said go, mateys. I don't wants ter see no more death around here. I heard of a mountain northwest o' here. You knows it?"

A fat little vole piped up, "I knows it. I take ya dere!"

Plugg raised a brow at Syzax, who nodded.

"Alright. Let's go. Slitfang, see them off with Tazzin. Me and Syzax will leave a trail for ye. Come on Rotface. Sharkson, I want you up here with me. Now!"

As they rushed to oblige, Sharkson muttered something. Syzax sent him a boot in the rump which knocked the stout weasel into a tree. Plugg chuckled as Rotface curled his lip and the vole rushed ahead of them, towards Liyarthin and Lord Leythin.

Shade Darkleg was busily polishing rat and weasel blood from his huge throwing sickles Slitfang had spoken of. His sword stood to one side, his javelin next to it and his dirk sheathed in his belt. His weapons all had a special sheath and made no noise when he walked with all of them.

Thistle, an old campaigner who was a little eccentric, stood talking to him in a gruff voice robbed of the noble accent the hares up north had.

"I see you flippin well went off without anybeast with you again. You idiotic little puddenheaded fool. Don't you get it through yer addlebrained head that you could be killed!"

Shade sighed and shook his head, saying in a whispery, raspy voice, "Don't you realize that if you call me one more foul name, I'm gonna hafta hurt ya?"

Thistle snuck out of the armory as Leythin sauntered up to him, his war scythe dull and dim. He grabbed a notched sharpening stone and set about on the edge of his weapon. The two worked in silence until Leythin gave a polite cough.

"Yes, my Lord?" Shade asked without looking up.

"You should learn to respect Old Thistle and his son Bart. Bart himself is almost twice as old as you, anyway."

"I got rid of a few of those bounders thought, didn't I?"

"Yes I suppose you did, but that doesn't excuse you from disobeying my orders. You cannot leave the mountain until the passing of the season. End of discussion." Leythin took his scythe and stone and was gone.

Shade cursed and finished his weapons in a foul mood. He walked downstairs to the dining room with only his dirk and sword on his many belts. He hunkered down at the table between two young haremaids, Skyeyes and Teryin, daughter of Treyin, the hare who had been there at Shade's birth. They were soppy, long lashed hares who were a season older than Shade and constantly stroked his weapons and fur.

As soon as he sat, they began flirting with him shamelessly. Skyeyes batted her pretty eyelashes at him, almost poking out her own bright blue eyes as Teryin rubbed his soot black, smooth fur. Shade grabbed a hunk of cheese and some bread, then loaded a haversack up with a big canteen of bilberry wine and another canteen of strawberry fizz, with some more bread for his only friend on the mountain, Summit. Summit was another young hare, who was albino, much like his hated enemy, Sharkson. His eyes weren't pink though. This beast's eyes were of the most haunting reddish orange that even Shade feared his direct gaze.

Leythin glared at the two and said after shaking his head, "You two are going to force him to do something drastic one day. As soon as Summit and Shade are asleep up there, you two are to assist Thistle with the summit defenses. That is all."

The two groaned and finished their meal in silence. A hare next to Leythin, Struck Swordblade nudged the big badger, adding politely, "No offense, sah, but Summit never ever leaves the mountaintop, wot wot. He's lived up there since his old pater's death, doncha know."

Leythin nodded and sighed. Two young hares such as Summit and Shade hadn't had fathers since their birth. Both were killed against the Corsair raiders of the shores. Struck finished his lunch and signaled to his regiment, threescore fighting hares and went to patrol the beach.

Skyeyes and Teryin slunk off to find Thistle, who was usually conversing with tables, chairs, and his rapier. Captain Sol Kan of the Long Patrol and leader of all the fighting hares in the mountain besides Leythin was a fine figure of a hare. She wielded a curved saber with an elaborate basket hilt and a pure steel blade with a single emerald at the bottom of the handle. She wore a faded red tunic with a faded yellow kilt. Over her normal garb was draped a long, no sleeved jacket.

She walked up behind Leythin and tapped his shoulder. He turned and she nodded towards the main gate. He followed her, dumbstruck.

At the gate was two foxes, a ferret, and three weasels. One of the weasels had bones protruding from his knuckles and the left side of his face was drooped horribly and his eye bulged out from the socket, red and yellow. The ferret was pure white with only half a tail and glittering white serrated teeth. The other four had the basic appearance of their species, besides the fact one of the foxes was almost as tall as Leythin himself, and the female weasel had a scar across her throat. Leythin instantly disliked them.

"What do you want here?" his thunderous voice echoed around the seashore.

The smaller fox, older than the rest, armed with a double headed axe and in a black Corsair jacket hobbled forward on a bad leg, pleading with Leythin, "Please, sir, we're down on our luck seagoers who lost our ship on the shore south of here. I lost everyone of me horde except the ones ye see here to the otter guard of Southsward while we were just passin through the region to find the shore and ship timbers."

Sol Kan whispered something to the badger and, reluctantly, he opened the gates of Liyarthin to the Freebooters of Cap'n Plugg Firetail.

Up on the crater rim, Summit Smokey and Shade Darkleg were enjoying a peaceful lunch. Summit's blue bladed halberd lay to one side, next to Shade's hiltless long sword. The dirk never left Shade's side. They munched on their bread, cheese, and drank their drinks in peace until they heard Thistle yelling at a catapult.

"Yew stupid beast! I told ye not to let Plugg and his offspring in here!" the old hare was yelling at the timber framed siege weapon.

Summit walked over to the old hare and relieved him of his bladed whip, telling him, "Stop yelling at the mountain defenses, wot. They might not want to work for us."

Thistle nodded and sat next to Shade. Forgetting their argument earlier, the old hare grinned at the young warrior. "Hey, there, Shade. How's the life treatin' ye?"

"Like a fox treats a pheasant while it's asleep," the younger hare replied, unable to stay angry with the old, confused warrior.

"What an ironic phrase. Two foxes are in the mountain right now!" As Thistle spoke, Shade grabbed his curved long sword and was gone.

"You shouldn't have flippin said that, wot. Now he's gonna get bally well jogged off from old Leythin," Summit grumbled as he picked up his halberd, his lunch forgotten. Shade and Summit were odd hares, due to the fact they had a smaller appetite than a watershrimp.

Thistle drew his rapier, wanting to be part of the moment and stalked down the tunnels with Summit, after Shade, conversing with various items along the walls.

"Why you great lazy axe! Get up and do something, sah! You there, battle sword, get off your double hilted aft end and move! Spears on the wall, stop arguing with the picture of Leythin and do summat!"

Summit grinned as he followed Shade's noisy footsteps.

In the armory, Sol Kan was conversing with Leythin, Plugg, and the remaining Freebooters. Despite their first thoughts, Plugg and his crew were very friendly. Rotface, despite his appearance was very friendly with the many leverets. Sharkson was silent as he kept to one side. Syzax, Slitfang, and Plugg were speaking to Leythin, the Freebooters having been relieved of their weapons, which adorned the wall for resharpening.

"We're sorry to burst in here like this, but a vole told us we could find some good fortune from Lord Leythin of Southsward. Might that be ye?" Plugg asked, pointing to the big Badger Lord with the war scythe over one shoulder.

Leythin was getting along well with Plugg and grinned, saying, "Nope, I'm Dibbun McBaby, the smallest molemousebabe in the world."

Plugg fell over laughing as Slitfang and Syzax looked to Sol Kan. The dangerous looking hare Captain was keeping her paw close to her saber. Slitfang became nervous and shifted awkwardly.

Shade Darkleg flew through the adderskin curtain separating the armory from the surrounding passageways, slamming into the weasel. Rotface freed himself of leverets and glared at the young hare. Sharkson barely raised a brow. The soot black hare's black sword blade was pressing against the weasel's throat. Leythin whacked Shade in the head, sending him crashing into a pile of staves. He fell over unconscious and Leythin helped Slitfang up.

"You okay, Slitty?" the Badger Lord asked him.

Slitfang, delighted that the badge knew his nickname, giggled and said, "Thanks to you, sire."

Leythin looked regrettably at the Freebooters, and announced, "I like you all, but my hares don't trust you. I will have to guard you day and night apparently until you gain their trust. I hope this doesn't offend you at all."

Tazzin waved her paws and shook her head. Slitfang spat out the window and followed Tazzin's example. Sharkson grunted, Syzax shrugged and Plugg took Leythin's paw.

"Course it don't. Freebooters don't get bothered by much no more." The big fox grinned through straight white teeth.

Leythin ushered them up into his own room, a big cavern with a huge rock slab in one side of the room and rush mats lain all about the big room. The Freebooters lie down on the mats, their weapons gripped closely.


	2. Of hamsters, Halfbreeeds, and Lizards

Chapter 2

Far to the north, at Redwall Abbey, chaos reigned as a group of Dibbuns was hauled from the pond by Skipper, the otter leader. He shook his head, disgusted as a small hedgehog babe tried to roll into the pond again. He grabbed the little creature and shooed her off, along with the rest of the abbeybabes, who were led off reluctantly, sobbing at the lecture they were guaranteed to receive from badger mother Len.

Skipper sauntered over to the gatehouse, where he hoped to find Sillian, the young mousemaid gatekeeper. He was quite fond of her and they were great friends, always sharing lunch and meals, reading and drinks. As he neared the gatehouse, he heard a rap on the main gate. It sounded like a spearbutt knocking against the woodwork. Skipper slid back the peephole and saw a middle aged, sturdy squirrel.

"Hey there, Sarthin. How's the travelin' goin'?" he asked out to the serious looking squirrel.

The sturdy young squirrel rapped the woodwork impatiently. He glared at the big otter and snapped, "I got urgent business for the Abott, not a nosy riverdog like yoreself!"

Skipper shoved the gate open, cuffing the squirrel's ears roughly. "Watch yore tongue with the Abbot, mate. He doesn't need any more problems than he has."

Sarthin slunk up to the Abbot and set down his hilted spear. He looked at the Abbot and sighed, his head drooping.

"Abbot Kein, I have bad news. Yore brother's dead. I found him in the ditch across the path a couple leagues south," the squirrel told the Father Abbot, his voice heavy with sadness.

"Is it the work of that foul Zeran? That evil, babe killing, slave taking, addlebrained excuse for a Halfbreed!" Kein, usually a soft spoken hamster, once the Abbey Warrior, cursed under his breath.

"Abbot Kein, are ye alright?" Sarthin asked him, worried for his friend.

"No, Sarthin. You bring me news of my brother, Keirn, dead at the hands of Zeran the Halfbreed. I am not fine." Kein excuse himself from the table and slunk upstairs.

Sarthin sighed, wandering off to the kitchens, where Friar Herth was cooking up lunch. The fat, jolly old hedgehog looked at the young squirrel's face and handed him a raspberry scone with redcurrant preserve, his favorite. The squirrel nibbled distractedly and sighed.

"Is he dead?" Herth asked the Warrior squirrel.

"Yes." Sarthin slunk off without another word.

Down the path, glaring down at the dead body of Keirn the white hamster, brother of Abbot Kein, Zeran and his vermin crew of Halfbreeds sniggered.

Zeran was a Halfbreed between a pine marten and a fox. Most of his crew were half rat, half ferret. It was an odd combination, coupled by the unique weapon each Halfbreed wore. The Halfbreed Chieftain himself wore a cloak, made of two eagle wings. He had killed the eagle. It was clasped at the front with a hamster skull. He had killed the hamster. His tunic was made of rough sharkskin chain mail, with a cotton undershirt beneath it. He had killed the shark. He kept his clothes in very clean affair, as did his crew. He had an eyepatch over one eye, and his other eye was almost sightless, though his hearing and sense of smell made him more formidable than anyone in all of Mossflower. His weapon was a handheld sickle, studded with emeralds and rubies, with a pearl blade, attached to a chain. It made a wicked flail, which he was an expert with.

"Yes, Slinky?" he said as a ferret/stoat mix crept up behind him with a short handled scythe.

"Chief, the Whom are setting up more camps in Mossflower, siding with the Guosim," Slinky said as his Chief twirled his sickle ended flail decisively.

"So, we have the Warrior Hamsters of Mossflower siding with the Guerrilla Union of Shrews in Mossflower. Now I'm upset."

Slinky slunk off, almost unheard by any of the Halfbreeds. Except for Zeran. He heard all. As he listened to his crew, another beast, a huge half rat, half weasel came up to him, with a longbow gripped easily in one claw. The bow had scimitar blades attached to each side of his bow at the top, while at the bottom was a mace. His arrows had thistles attached to them, dipped in molten steel to make them hard as Martin's sword.

"Chief, et be me, Shoth. Me gots news of yon badger tribe in de east, might'ness." The huge creature had a somewhat tainted speech, but was one of Zerag's best warriors.

"The badgers bother me not. They can go about their business. Unless they attack, then we kill!" The huge beast whirled his sickle flail around until the air hummed, then he sunk it into the ground between Shoth's footpaws.

He smiled at the beast and sent him away. As the Wererat crept off, another beast walked up. Zerag's closest friend and best fighter, it was an awkward mix of mole and wolverine. He had donned a loose steel helmet, a polished breastplate, and spiked leg plates.

"Oi been a thinken et be toim to take tha H'abbey, zurr," the awkward beast, named Slort shuffled in his ungainly armor, surprisingly agile for the heavy stuff.

Zerag nodded. He would march on Redwall Abbey. It would be his! He would slay all in his path. No one could withstand the might of his Halfbreeds, most of whom were as big as an otter at least.

They took the path north to Redwall Abbey and what they hoped would be a simple victory.

Unlike the last couple times Redwall had been at siege, the Abbey dwellers were well prepared this time. Spears, pikes, swords, bows, arrows, and sling were passed out. The slingstones at the Abbey were studded with poisonous spores from fungus around Mossflower and were hurled with deadly accuracy by otters and a few hedgehogs. For the most part, the Redwall Army chose to use long pikes or spears over the shorter of the weapons, swords, javelins, daggers, and even a couple short cutlasses.

The only beast who wielded a different weapon was a sturdy looking iguana. He had come to Redwall at his second season. He had a huge bastard sword which he could wield with one claw, and his back spines made him even more formidable, along with his long sweeping tail. Since no one had ever gotten him to tell them his name, or much else, they mostly referred to him as Ziggy Longswipe. He was fine with the name and was happy with his life, eating after dark from the pond so as not to upset the peaceful Abbey beasts with his voracious, flesh craving appetite.

"Hoi, Zig! Get up here, matey, we got vermin on the pathway!" Skipper's voice hailed him from the ramparts.

"Ssseemss a bit early fur varmintssss, eh Sssskip?" Ziggy made his way up to the ramparts and sighed at the sight of about fourscore vermin, each a Halfbreed, well fed and pretty well clean, with bright glittering weapons. No two Halfbreeds had the same weapon, even the archers had different arrows. There were no slingers. These beasts were killers, not slavers. They had once killed almost all the Dibbuns in a raid on night when the otters were away. Since then, Zerag had been convinced that he could handle the Abbey. Until Ziggy Longswipe showed up. He slew half of the Halfbreeds before they escaped, his mad strength and Bloodwrath assisting him in ridding Redwall of the Halfbreeds. Now they were back, led by Blynd Eye's son, Zerag Eye.

"Ahoy, there Redwall! Remember me? I'm Zerag Eye, Killer of Your Babbies!" The Pinefox, for that was what he was called, cackled ruthlessly.

His laugh died to a choked gurgle as Ziggy appeared on the battlements, hissing at the vermin on the path, the sun glittering off his scars from their recent encounter, "What do ye be a wantingsss Halfssssscum?"

"Yore still here, scalescum? Thought we slew you, Zigzag." The Halfbreeds behind him guffawed.

"It'ssss Ziggy Longssssssswipe, ssssscum, and don't ye forget it. I'll kill ye if'n ye sssstepsss inssside here." Ziggy ducked as the Redwallers loosed their poisoned slingstones and arrows at the Halfbreeds.

Zeran Eye signaled to his crew to put on their masks. They were specially made to block the dreaded spores, and their sharkskin chain mail was more than enough to keep the arrows out. Shaking arrows from his armor, the Pinefox guffawed. It was war.

His army retreated to the ditch, where they could plan.

"Ziggy Longswipe. He left the battle with so many wounds, I thought he was a moving blood sack," Zerag muttered to Shoth.

The Wererat was gathered with his kind, half weasel, half rats, and was polishing his weapon lovingly, paying attention to the blades of his battle bow. He snorted as he noted, "De lithard nodd be too much broblem fer 'ee, Chief."

"Glad ye see things my way, my logically impaired friend. Go to your friends, they're waiting for ye." He motioned to the Wererats, who all had bows with different blades attached to them and different arrow styles.

The Wererats, Ferats, Rastoats, and other Halfbreeds were busily munching on anything they could find, beside the food issued by Zerag. He always saw that his crew was well fed. He knew that kindness, not fear, kept the Halfbreeds in order. They feared nothing.

The least common of the halfbreeds, besides Zerag himself and Slort, were the Werefoxes. Fox and weasel mixes. At first being called Weafoxes, they changed it to the more menacing Werefox. There was only one beast in the whole army who wasn't a Halfbreed.

It was a wolf. Not a fox, or a foxwolf, a wolf from the far northlands. He wielded a whip made of badger teeth and sharkskin attached to a short length of chain. It had a switch on it which enabled him to straighten it, making it a rough mace. His name was Kojin Northblade, and his only mate in the Halfbreed army besides Zerag and Slort, was a short fox/rat mix. It was beyond being the oddest beast in the army, no one being able to determine if it was female or male. They called the beast Rax. And it liked the ring. Rax never spoke and wielded a bone spear.

Rax, Kojin, Zerag, and Slort were plotting their attack on Redwall Abbey, despite the fearsome iguana, Ziggy Longswipe of the Marsh.

Ziggy Longswipe was in a dilemma. He knew about the wolf Kojin, and was worried. He swished his massive tail back and forth, sitting with his reptilian friend, a Monitor from the distant isle of Sampetra, named Gizzy. The beast was almost as big as Kojin and was the Abbey's last resort. Gizzy was a residential Mercenary, who would fight for the Abbey on a moment's notice, but would later request an unmentionable payment. His usual fine? Fresh meat. Fresh _mouse_ meat. Ziggy didn't like enlisting the fearsome, mouse eating lizard, but in cases like this, he had to.

Sarthin sat between the two, his short, hilted spear right next to him, ready to lash out at Gizzy. The mouse across the table, who sat between two hamster warriors, looked at Gizzy and smiled disarmingly at the huge reptile.

"Wot iz it now, Merz?" Gizzy sighed and hissed at the Abbey Warrior Mers.

"I was just wondering if you would kill a wolf for the Abbey."

Gizzy rolled his eyes in pleasure. "Wolf meat iz good. I will kill thiz wolf for no charge, Abbey. He iz mine!"

The battle plan was set. On dawn of the next day, the two armies would strike.


	3. The Start of a Journey

**Chapter 3**

Shade Darkleg was awakened by Summit Smokey rapping his ears with the halberd handle. Shade was in Leythin's armory, his weapons off to one side. He sat bolt upright, but Summit shoved him back down.

"Mellow out, sah. Leythin whacked ye good," the white hare explained.

Shade let himself be carried off by the bigger, stronger white hare. They soon stopped at Shade's room, a small cave laden with feather pillows and cushions, with barkcloth blankets.

"Thank ye, Summit. You should get back up there, though," the black hare gasped out.

Summit saluted and nipped off to the mountain's crater. Shade smiled and fell asleep, rolling into a barkcloth blanket and fluffing a feather pillow with his ears.

He was visited by a mouse in armor, holding the most magnificent sword he had ever seen. The mouse smiled handsomely. The image faded and some type of strange reptile emerged, an iguana with a bastard sword. Then the sword faded and the mouse's sword appeared in the lizard's claws. Shade rolled over in his sleep, shifting the odd dream, figuring it had nothing ot do with him, when the mouse appeared again, this time stern.

"You, black hare, will one day bring

Happiness and joy, so much one could sing

Follow the lizard, he knows the way,

Avoid the pinefox, he loves to slay.

Follow my words and you shall see,

The day when even _you_ are happy."

Shade awoke a few hours later, heading down to the dining hall. He was met by Struck Swordblade, Sol Kan, and Thistle. The three bowed to him and motioned to a group of scruffy, mice-looking creatures with spiky fur and broad belts, with colored headbands and kilts, a rapier in each one's belt.

"Meet Log-a-Log Gratch, Chieftain of the shrews," Struck bowed slightly to the shrew leader.

"Is there something I can help ye with, shrews?" Shade asked a little confusedly.

"Well, Lord Leythin 'as requested that ye come with us to Redwall Abbey. Ye may take yer friend Summit with ye, but I don't want me food getting scoffed in one hour."

"You don't have to worry about that with these two," Sol Kan explained politely, then added, "Summit and Shade eat about as much as a baby water shrimp."

Log-a-Log Gratch followed Shade and Summit up to the armory, where Shade grabbed his dirk, curving long sword and adder fang javelin. Summit plucked a white longbow with black and grey flights, along with his halberd. Gratch gasped at the fearsome weaponry, ranging from searat cutlasses, to fox warhooks, al the way up to Badger Lord swords, spears, maces, and pikes.

"Pretty impressive, isn't it, old Log-a-Thing?" Summit twitched his nose respectively.

"Aye, that it is, matey. I've never seen so much weaponry," the shrew leader said before he was ushered out of the room and down to the dining room, where they finished their lunch.

Gratch and a few other shrews led the two hares outside. Beached on the river's edge were four large tree trunks, hacked out in the middle and filled with oars. There was a single mast with a square sail and a tiller at the back end. Shade sighed and sat in one, while Summit hopped right in.

After a few minutes of goodbyes and friendly embraces, the logboats set off upstream, heading for Redwall Abbey. Shade instantly fell asleep and Summit soon followed lulled to sleep by the melodious rustling and swishing of the stream, with dancing fireflies all around. Gratch shook his head and smiled at the two young hares.

Up north of Redwall, at the old Abbey Rosebud, a lark threw out his morning song, oblivious to the scenes of carnage and death all around him in the once beautiful Abbey. The pink stone walls were ravaged and decimated, the once great Main Hall and its treasures robbed. The Abbey had once been occupied by squirrels and otters, a defense against the hordes of the Northlands, but it had been decimated, due to frequent raven, fox, and ferret attacks. The most recent, and most successful, raiding party stood around the Chief, who was wiping his war hammer's spiked edges on Abbes Smerh's robe.

"Well, me buckoes, we got rid o' all o' the otters and squirrels in the Northlands, eh?" the big fox Kili commented to his horde. All around were dead squirrels, otters, and ravens, along with a few of his horde.

The massive horde set off, down south, towards Redwall Abbey. As soon as they had gone, a small, sturdy young squirrel stirred, moaning painfully. The white and red speckled creature stood up painfully, searching around for any survivors. He stumbled across corpses of his closest friends, each time sobbing louder.

"Star, Screh, Smerh, Otto, Lert!" The young squirrel fell to his knees, face buried in his paws.

Sethiroth Splinterclaw, so called because one of his claws on each paw was shattered and splintered, sat until nightfall, sobbing and licking his wounds painfully. He groped around for his old scimitar and found it. His eyes flamed red as he descended into the forge room. The Northern Mountains echoed to the sounds of his hammer slamming the scimitar into cold ruthlessness.

At Redwall Abbey, the defense against the Halfbreeds was well under way. Skipper had taken a trident tipped arrow through his tail, and a javelin through his left paw. He still fought on, battering at the attackers with a long wall pike. Ziggy was calmly sending off arrows from his longbow. Mers, Foremole, and Sarthin were firing their siege catapults at a surprising rate, but the Halfbreeds were far too fast to be hit by such a slow moving device.

Zeran, Shoth, Slort, and Kojin, along with Rax, were sitting in the fringes of Mossflower, calmly sharing a wood pigeon. Kojin noticed the reptilian head of Gizzy watching him and he became nervous, shuffling his claws on the ground awkwardly. He coiled his whip around one paw and sighed.

They heard something coming up the water filled ditch. Rax sighted it and tugged his Chief's robe furiously. Zeran regrettably called the retreat.

"Retreat! Fall back! Retreat to the meadow!" Zeran called as his horde leapt over the ditch, whooping and hollering.

The three back stragglers, two ferret/rat mixes and a Werefox were hit by sharpened reed javelins. When they fell, they were set upon by small frilled newts, who stabbed them repeatedly with tiny, poisoned daggers made from thorns, dipped in a deadly toxin. When they stopped, almost four hundred small frilled newts, each one the size of a Dibbun squirrel, were out on the path. They heard something splashing up the river.

In a flurry of twinkling teardrops from the ravaged surface of the flooded ditch, a strange lizard appeared. He had very long hind legs, and a frill around his neck that was at least four times the size of the smaller newts. He landed among them, lashing out with his weapon, a metal staff with a replica of a clenched fist at either end. He slew a score of them before they fled. He looked up at the wall, recognizing Ziggy Longswipe and Gizzy.

"Hoi, Gizzy. What do they call ye now, isn't it Ziggy?" he sneered up at the iguana.

Ziggy glared back down at him, his hand straying close to his bastard sword as he said, "Shut up Zenzar Raznez."

Zenzar looked touched. "Ye remembered me, Longswipe, eh?"

"Oh, aye, Jesus lizard. You are a conssstant pain in me-" he was cut off as Skipper clapped a paw over his mouth.

"What have ye to say, scaled one?" the burly otter called out.

"I have come to assist ye with yon vermin." the Jesus lizard crooked a claw at the Halfbreeds.

"Well, Zenzar Raznez, how do we know we can trust ye?" Ziggy and Skipper chorused out from the ramparts.

Zenzar threw his staff. It landed expertly at the feet of Abbot Kein. He picked it up, shocked at the weight of the slender weapon. He looked to Ziggy who nodded.

"That be a sssymbol of friendship of ussss Marsh Beasstss." Ziggy smiled slightly at his old friend.

Sillian the Gatekeeper opened the gate up to Zenzar Ranzez. The Jesus lizard slunk in, sneaking up to join the other two Redwall lizards. He clapped their backs as he grabbed his staff, wincing at Ziggy's spikes.

"Time to make half-meat outta some Halfbreeds, buddies."


	4. A Squirrel's Work is Never Done

**Chapter 4**

It was evening when Sethiroth Splinterclaw finished his work. At his side were two throwing disks, called chakrams and over one shoulder was his lethal scimitar, thin and sharp. Across his chest, crossed over his rib cage, were two belts of throwing darts, tipped with poison, which he carried in a large glass vial in his pouch, which was in the middle of his belt at the front.

He set off south, the sunlight reflecting off his white, sheeny fur. He got less than half a league before he was set upon by a group of ferret bandits. They halted him in the middle of the path.

The leader, a fat, overly dressed creature, stepped forth, waving an old boat hook and grinning, saying to his mates, "Looks like- Unnnh!"

Four darts in rapid succession slammed him in the face. Sethiroth Splinterclaw was among them in a flash. Within seconds, he had sliced open one ferret's stomach with a chakram, hacked one's head off with the other chakram, and rammed his scimitar through another's gut.

He wiped his weapons, and stopped to fashion more darts from a low branch, dipping them in poison, then was gone. He made good time, swinging through the trees rapidly, ignoring the ravens constantly attacking him. He didn't care. Kili needed to die. The fox, with his spiked war hammer, was the most notorious killer in the Northlands. He had made one mistake.

Sethiroth Splinterclaw was alive.

As he came up on the rearguard of Kili's small band, he grabbed a few darts and flicked them with tremendous accuracy. The three rats and two ferrets collapsed, writhing like dried up worms under a magnifying glass. The squirrel leaped onto the path, drawing his two chakrams and rushed ahead, catching up with Kili's force.

The first beast to see him was a young ferret, no older than five seasons. Sethiroth didn't care. He gripped one chakram with both hands, sheathing the other. The ferret had no time to cry out as the squirrel's bladed ring slammed into his stomach, the serrated edges slaying him brutally.

Kili turned at the head of his small army to see the young ferret fall. Then he saw the squirrel. He screamed in fright and ran swiftly south. Sethiroth drew his scimitar and sheathed his second chakram. His darts flew everywhere through the night as he clambered up trees, launching the darts, only to leap down on the nearest enemy's head as he jumped down, slamming his scimitar into the foebeast.

A bigger weasel drew his weapon, chain somehow stuck in a straight manner. At one point, somebeast had cleverly stuck spikes, arrowheads and speartips through the links. He looked at all his slain comrades and plucked the dart from his footclaw. He was wavering slightly.

"Coom un, big ole beast yersel' wit poison," the weasel snorted at the squirrel.

The squirrel raised his brows. Under them his eyes were like chips of steel from the Hell-gates themselves. He spoke in a heavy northern voice, "Och, ye'll get no sympathy frae mah hairt. Ye slew mah mateys, time for ye tae die."

The weasel charged him, but the poison blurred his vision. The last thing he saw was a slim bladed, gut hooked scimitar slicing towards his blurry eyed face. Sethiroth Splinterclaw wiped his weapons on some wet grass.

He set about sharpening darts from the bark of a fallen pine. He flighted the dart with his own tail fur, a proof of his commitment. He filled his belt, dipping each one in poison. He stood up, looking around at the slain creatures on the pathway.

Kili Flay! The big fox was still alive. He cursed inwardly and leapt into a tree, swinging southwards. Soon he saw the sun glinting off the spikes of the big fox's war hammer. He leapt in front of him, dealing him a sharp belt to the midriff.

The big fox hauled himself upright, swinging his war hammer in an upwards arc, hoping to catch his adversary in the stomach. The sturdy squirrel leapt backwards and sent out a whack with his sword blade. The fox countered it with his hammer haft and swung his foot upwards. Sethiroth saw it coming and slammed his serrated chakram in to the footclaw of Kili.

Kili hardly noticed the wound. He had backed up against a tree, and a wicked, sickle shaped sword was protruding from his stomach. He looked down at it in horror and shifted his clouding eyes up to Sethiroth. The squirrel said nothing. He swung his sword and ripped the fox's head from his neck.

Behind him, the most primitive ferret glared at him. Taking no nonsense, he hurled a dart at the ferret, slaying him instantly. He rushed off the path southwards again, towards Redwall Abbey. He had no idea he was being followed.

The creature had fled from his land, the land of ice and snow from across the western seas. He had the body of a badger, but bigger. The blunt claws were savagely replaced by brutal, curving claws. He had a snout like a weasel and multiple fangs in his mouth. Saliva dripped onto the ground as he talked the squirrel.

Blueflame the Wild Wolverine hadn't had squirrel in a season. Unlike most wolverines, he had a bluish white fur with black and gold stripes running down his back. He had steel wrist- guards studded with spikes and had a torn up cloak about his shoulders. He glared at the rapidly receding figure of Sethiroth Splinterclaw of the North, craving fresh meat.


End file.
